


Faultline

by Dragonofl5



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demisexuality, Eventual Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sane Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII), Turk Vincent Valentine, Wutai War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-31 19:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonofl5/pseuds/Dragonofl5
Summary: Sephiroth doesn't have time for a relationship, he says, not when there is war brewing in Wutai. Genesis thinks he's wrong of course and tries to press the issue. He can really only stand to watch his best friend pine after the vampire heading the Turks for so long, after all.





	1. Chapter 1

"Have you ever considered, you know," Genesis motions aimlessly with the fork in his hand. "fucking him?"

Sephiroth blinks once, twice, before turning back to the papers in his hand. "I will not participate in this conversation."

Genesis' smile widens and his eyes light up, like he's come up with a brilliant idea. "What? Don't tell me you haven't thought about it." He glances across the mess hall to their current topic of conversation; the tall, lean, raven-haired head of the Turks currently trying to purchase lunch. "I've thought about it. Gaia, even Angeal has thought about it."

Angeal shoots an exasperated, yet fond look at the red-head. "No, I havent." Genesis tsks. Considers. Sighs. 

"You're right, he's not your type. But you!" He spins on the bench seat to face Sephiroth fully, smile blindingly white. "He's completely up your alley. Don't tell me this ridiculous Turk SOLDIER rivalry is preventing you from getting laid."

A half-aborted sound of surprise crawls up out of his throat as he turns his attention back to Genesis. He glares. "I hear gunshot wounds are painful." 

Genesis' eyes dart to the disappearing wraith-like form with a huff of amusement. "He wouldn't shoot me. The paperwork alone is enough to deter anyone from trying."

"Didnt stop him from shooting that blonde last month, Velve? Wasn't he one of your materia students before he dropped out?" Angeal chimes in.

"Or Shinra's secretary, earlier this week." Sephiroth adds, a subtle quirk to his lips as he watches Genesis' fidget at the news.

"Or Lucerne, that scientist assistant who tried to ask him for a blood sample."

"Or-,"

"Fine! I get it, I'll drop the subject." He scowls at the two of them before snatching up the recruitment list of materia users. "For now. See if I try to be helpful again." He bites out bitterly before stalking from the mess hall. Amusement curls in his Sephiroth's chest as he watches people scramble to get out of the way. 

Angeal shakes his head, chuckling. "He didn't actually shoot anyone, did he?" 

"Vincent Valentine?" Sephiroth shrugs. "I almost guarantee it." 

\----

The trouble is, he has thought about it. A few times, in fact. Valentine is incredibly attractive, tall yet wire thin, all broad shoulders and narrow hips. Sephiroth has only seen him without the blue suit jacket of his department a few times, but it's never been a disappointment. His crisp white dress shirt always clings to his form like water. One time, he caught the man rolling the sleeves up to his elbows and he is certain a secretary nearly fainted behind her desk. If it were looks alone he could dismiss the thoughts as simple admiration for a beautiful form. There is no harm in looking, after all. 

But there are other things. The way he walks, like a predator lives under his skin. The way he commands his subordinates with calculated calm, never once flinching away from a difficult situation. He holds himself like he understands what it's like to be a king despite his status as a pawn and that confidence appeals to Sephiroth in a very carnal way. When they sit in meetings together with the board he often wonders what it would be like to press a hand to the back of his neck, force him flat over the table in a mockery of submission. Too often he wonders if the man would go freely or if he would fight it, shed that calm facade and bare his teeth in a way that promises to be deadly. He's only once witnessed anger from the head of the Turks but it wasn't a volatile thing. It was more like a calm storm that brewed more deadly over time, the tightness of his jaw and tense line of his shoulders giving away small hints. 

What would it be like, to see him set free of that passive cage? 

Yes, he has thought about it. But the opportunity has never presented itself to gauge interest, and they are both busy men. 

\----

The resistance in Wutai boils over into war almost overnight, much to no one's surprise. Sephiroth has been monitoring reports from his men stationed throughout the country for weeks now, gauging the signs in third person. A quick meeting with the President and then another, longer strategical planning with his FIRSTs confirms their orders and cements a tentative strategy. He puts Genesis in the best position for unparalleled destruction by magic to the west, sends Angeal and his young apprentice Zackary to the other side of the country for more infiltrative and delicate maneuvers, and positions himself on the front lines to inspire confidence in his men while cutting through enemy lines the hard way. 

He is two weeks into death and destruction when he is summoned from the middle of the battlefield, a solid voice calling out a sharp, "Sir!"

He glances over at the 2nd, a tall brunette standing at attention. He motions with his right hand for him to continue as he surveys the smouldering ruins of a resistance camp. "A Turk has asked to see you at camp, Sir!" He fights back a growl and turns, knows he cuts an imposing figure with catlike pupils and blood-matted clothes. There is a bullet wound bleeding sluggishly from his thigh that he will have to tend to and various other scrapes to be catalogued later. 

He expects one of the turk underlings to be in his tent when he arrives but is surprised to see Valentine leafing through the reports on his desk. He is sans suit, clad in rugged travel clothes that are a complicated mess of belts and leather. A red cloak drapes over his shoulders in the local fashion, and when he tilts his head Sephiroth realizes that the man is probably half-Wutaian. 

He doesn't undress or shed anything, just let's the tent flap fall back into place and goes to fix himself a glass of lukewarm water from the pitcher near his cot. It is likely he will need to leave again soon. 

"Valentine."

Vincent leans back against the makeshift desk and crosses his arms, immediately getting to the heart of his visit. "President Shinra is asking for a detailed report. He wants this mess cleaned up by the end of the week, if possible." 

Sephiroth scoffs, "This mess," like it's not men dying in the field a painful death and an entire country being burned alive. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then exhales and with it sheds that sharp battle mentality that has kept him moving for weeks on a laughable amount of sleep and minimal time for food. "Off the record?"

Vincent nods and reaches up to tap at something near his his left shoulder, a mic probably. He motions for Sephiroth to continue.

"Let President Shinra come for a day, then I'll show him what 'this mess' truly means." He looks down at his hands, cupped around a plastic mug full of water, notices the dried blood that has tinged his skin red. There's a mixture of mud and something else caked under his fingernails, and it's just now that he realizes how long it's been since he's had a shower. His thigh twinges as he shifts, blood still trailing down his leg at a slow pace. When he looks back up at Vincent, there's an odd expression on his face he can't name. Valentine is staring at his hair for some reason, which is braided tightly so it stays out of his way.

After a pause, he restarts the mic and nods. "Your report then?" 

Sephiroth begins a detailed report of their movements since landing on the battlefield. He weaves in the goings on of his fellow commanding officers, details the amount they've lost and the necessary supplies for moving forward. Shinra wants the war over by the end of the week, but there are still resistance bases to find and destroy and the Emperor to deal with. He estimates another month at minimum before any significant progress is made towards subduing the jungle country.

He is in the middle of detailing a tentative strategy going forward when they both tense. There's an odd clicking sound off in the distance somewhere, not unlike the sound of a lighter being lit. It takes a moment for the noise to register before he reacts, grabs Valentine by the front of his uniform and pulls. The Turk follows him to the ground in a graceful fall, grunting softly on impact as the world explodes around them. Sephiroth shields him from heat, hissing as the explosion rolls over his back. The shout and screams of soldiers registers a split second later, along with gunfire. 

He exhales, and in the next moment he is off, on his feet moving toward his men. The tent is shredded around them, the camp torn apart by homemade grenades, most likely. His SOLDIERs are engaging as trained and fighting well but the resistance has the upper hand of surprise and planning. His thigh pains him, the bullet still lodged in solid muscle but at the moment he doesn't have time to care. He expects that Valentine will retreat, more used to interrogation scenarios than war, but is surprised to see him rise with a gun in his hand and cold fury on his face. He briefly wonders if the Turks have ever truly fought in a war. 

He blurs into motion to save a 3rd from losing his head, guts a resistance fighter as he charges at him uselessly. Three more men die by the time he stops to asses more of the situation. His gaze stops on a blur of red as it darts between trees, moving effortlessly from cover to fire shots in the distance. Valentine's aim is incredible, he never wastes a shot on a target he can't hit. His eyes blaze mako red, his teeth bared and Sephiroth is forced to pause and admire the man in the midst of chaos, fighting for his life. He is beauty incarnate, a marble statue come to life as fire blazes from the end of his gun. The turk moves like a berserker dropped into a rage, his movements a whirlwind of chaos as he attempts to drive their enemies into extinction. Seeing him like that is rather...enticing. 

Something base pulls at him to grab the slender man and toss him into the thick trees, put him on his back and fight him for the right to claim. 

Sephiroth swallows down the feeling and turns the other direction. He is sure there is a leader hanging in the back, barking orders he can kill instead. 

\---

Four SOLDIERs die in the attack. Sephiroth directs the remaining men to clean up what's left of camp and dispose of the bodies. Valentine has disappeared somewhere, though Sephiroth isn't exactly sure what he is doing. He is honestly too tired to care, at this point. A 2nd offers him a ration bar and he takes it, chewing mindlessly as he works to decide on their next base of operations. 

Then the page starts to blur and he blinks. He tries to clear his vision and fails, the world tilting slightly. He remembers the bullet in his thigh and curses, glancing around to make sure his men are too occupied to notice as he stands and stiffly moves to find medical supplies. Blood loss and pain are typically not an issue because of his enhancements, but the wound has been open far too long and he's been fighting non-stop for most of the day. 

His hands shake as he attempts to dig the bullet out, his teeth slicing into a peace of leather he salvaged from his torn coat. The pain becomes white hot and his vision drops out again, so he pauses. He's considering asking his second in command to assist him when Valentine returns carrying scraps of fabric in his hand. The turk takes one look at Sephiroth and curses, immediately rushing over. 

"How long has this been open?" He demands. No calm facade here, it seems. Sephiroth shrugs like it doesn't matter and let's go of the tweezers when prompted. Valentine let's out a string of words in a language he doesn't understand before setting to work. He is efficient and well trained, the bullet comes out with ease and Sephiroth sighs as the pain dulls a bit. 

"You shouldn't be so careless." Is that...concern? He raises an eyebrow at the turk but doesn't say anything. Wishes he could sleep but knows there is little time for rest when their camp lies in shambles. The other man motions for him for turn. "Your back."

Normally he would shrug it off, the burns are most likely healed and he can't feel anything other than his thigh. Valentine insists, pressing a hand to his shoulder to spin him around in the chair and survey what damage remains. When he deems it acceptable he sighs. 

"Anywhere else?"

"Nothing pressing, though I wouldn't expect you to be so attentive." Sephiroth levels him with a pointed stare over his shoulder. Vincent's jaw tightens, a suggestion that he is grinding his teeth together to keep from saying something. His fingers trail from the tatters of his jacket to his hair, brushing over the tight braid, before pulling away. His passive facade is back in place again.

In lieu of a response, he shows Sephiroth the torn patches of cloth collected from the dead. "Clan marks. The majority of them are from the neighboring village, but not all. Have you seen anything similar at the resistance camps?" 

Sephiroth nods. "The Kisodo clan mark was prevalent at our most recent target, but there were a few there bearing the marks and uniform of the Tigarin. Angeal expressed sentiments of clan cooperativity in his last report, but nothing concrete. He claimed the villages have been displaying multiple clan flags in some places, while others have taken all marks down in general in favor of the Wutaian flag."

Vincent frowns, eyebrows furrowed as if the information troubles him deeply. He turns away from Sephiroth slightly, muttering to himself, but his voice is pitched too low to hear. The turk trains his gaze on the thick jungle area that hadn't been cleared when they initially established basecamp, silently contemplating. He doesn't move when Sephiroth stands to find maps, leaving him alone to his thoughts while he continues plotting their next course of action. He selects a suitable region of densely packed jungle to fortify and jots notes down in the blank spaces of paper. A little while later Valentine leaves, cloak sweeping behind him, and he stares as the turk disappears through the trees.

Solitude gives Sephiroth the necessary time to close his eyes and breathe. Despite being enhanced within an inch of his life, he is nearing his limit in terms of energy. Soon it will affect his ability to remain calm on the battlefield, and while the enemy doesn't garner any mercy he tries not to show his base nature in front of his subordinates. There's also a certain...snappiness he gets when sleep deprived that will be detrimental to morale. With a sigh he closes up the maps and repacks what little survived the explosion. 

He hopes Gaia has had enough bloodshed for one day and that their journey will be uneventful. He cannot rest until the new camp is established.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for enjoying the first chapter so much! Here's some Vincent for you! Next chapter features them both again.

"Cooperative movements are not new to Wutai." Vincent glances at the young man, barely 18, leaning against the wall of the store room he's set up for recon. Tseng is full Wutaian and it shows with his waterfall of thick black hair and the red mark of his heritage displayed proudly, despite his disloyalty to the country. "It will not last long. Infighting will rise between the lower ranks and the clan heads will argue over strategies while Shinra divides and conquers."

Vincent shakes his head, flipping through a book on Wutai's warring factions. "They have never been this successful. Determination will keep them from fighting long enough to mount a successful offense, if the rumors are true." He finds the particular clan he is looking for and jots down a note or two in code. "Tell me what you know of the Kisodo clan. Their uniforms are slightly different."

Tseng opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "They have a new clan head."

Vincent gives Tseng his full attention, curious. Tseng crosses his arms, hands disappearing up his sleeves as he tenses, sighs. "Its Fugaku."

A hiss of outrage slips off his tongue. "That's impossible." The 'I killed him' goes unsaid.

"He has spent a significant amount of time whispering in the ears of the clan heads, guiding them strategically to bolster the resistance. When Shinra responded to Wutai's claims of war, a mysterious illness came upon Furin Kisodo that rendered him unfit to lead. Fugaku rose as the clan head the next day, though the rumors are not pretty. He has fearmongered the common folk to his side."

"Fugaku Haiten should be dead by 4 years."

Tseng shakes his head, "He is very much alive. I imagine the war was more important than keeping the secret."

Vincent closes his eyes and tips his head back against a wooden crate, wrestling his temper back under control. "This complicates things." He hears Tseng scoff but the young man doesn't offer any further remarks.

Fugaku Haiten was a tyrant, a madman with control over several small factions he used to claim were the true and sacred bloodlines of Wutai. His silver tongue had convinced his followers that the extermination of "outsider" clans was the only way to redeem the jungle country in the eyes of the ancient gods, prompting the swift execution of any village too weak to defend itself. It is a tragedy both he and Tseng share, a common thread of loss of home and family ripped away by one pathetic man he thought he had finally been rid of.

"Is he in good health?" He shuts the book in his lap with a snap of his hand and stows it in a travel bag. Tseng frowns, contemplating the meaning behind the question and not the actual words. He will make a good Turk some day soon, Vincent thinks.

"Good enough to be a bad idea to take a walk in his direction. As clan head he has quite a few more protections than his previous status as a rebel leader afforded him. More people, more weapons, higher skill. Unless you're thinking of cashing out your life insurance policy, I would stay far away from him and his clan. Especially wearing that." Tseng motions to the cloak draped around his shoulders with a grimace.

His lips tip into a satisfied smirk. "Something the matter with my choice of clothing, kid?"

"Aside from the fact that you wore it when you failed to kill him the first time?" Tseng rolls his eyes, and it distracts him from the fluid movement of Vincent going from perfectly slouched against the crates to standing with a fist in his shirt. He bodily lifts the teen with one arm and playfully tosses him out the door into the main storehouse, his smirk flashing into a deadly smile. Tseng lands on his ass and hisses back at him angrily when he comes to a stop against heavy bags of grain, spitting a curse at him in Wutaian as he gets his feet back under himself.

Vincent leans down to retrieve his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he stalks through the door and locks it. "You know, you're going to have to be faster than that if you want to pass my admissions test, Tseng."

The young Wutaian scoffs and dusts himself off. "Why would I want to work under a sadist like you?" Vincent shoots him an amused look but doesn't comment. Whether he wants it or not, Vincent will have him once the war has been won. He has meticulous files back in his office in Midgar on the teen that include lists of every single piece of intelligence he's shared with Shinra and the psuedo missions Vincent keeps running him around on to keep him useful. Shinra hates loose ends, and he would hate to have to kill someone so well suited to the job.

He motions for Tseng to follow him out of the storehouse and he does. "I need to know more about the Kisodo clan and just how much they're driving the direction of this war. I understand the goal of protecting the country and not surrendering to Shinra, but Fugaku is known for harboring personal agendas." Tseng's jaw tightens minutely. They both understand his agenda on a very personal level.

"I need to know if he's aiming to be Emperor." Tseng pauses before they reach the door, contemplating. Vincent can tell he hadn't thought Fugaku capable of uprooting the current dynasty, but he knows exactly what tyrants are capable of, and if Fugaku wants to be Emporer, to frame Shinra in the midst of the war to cover his own nefarious deeds, then Vincent wouldn't be surprised.

"Where will you be, in the meantime?"

"I need to relay some information around. I'll find you in a week to hear what you've found." He jerks his head towards the door for Tseng to leave first, and when the young man is out of sight he sighs loudly. A drink at the inn would be quite lovely right about now.

\----

It is much, much later, after sending a detailed report back to Shinra HQ and three fairly strong drinks that he calls Veld.

They were partners in the field once, before an injury put Veld behind a desk for good and Vincent became head operative. They know each other in a way that only Turk partners can, and so it's no surprise when the older man asks him whats troubling him a few minutes into the conversation.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Bullshit, Valentine. You've been drinking, haven't you?" Vincent glares at the empty glass on the bedside table like it had yelled out hello to his old partner. "I had a small drink," he lies. "I am in a warzone, after all."

Veld scoffs into the reciever, and Vincent can feel him roll his eyes despite being several days flying distance away. "You dont drink."

"I drink socially. Are you going to ask me about my smoking habits now too?" He teases. It's easier to deflect than get at the true reason he had two drinks too many.

"Cut the crap, V. Tell me what's bothering you before I hang up on your spooky ass and go back to bed. You woke me up at 2am, by the way."

He curses low, glancing at the clock. "My apologies. Should I let you sleep?"

"'M awake now," Veld yawns. "So spill."

Vincent tenses as if the other man is actually in the room too. He opens his mouth to say it, but sighs instead. "Its-"

"Say 'it's nothing' again and I'll have Shotgun shoot you the next time you show your face in the office."

He startles a low laugh out of him, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "You prepared for the paperwork that comes with that threat Veld?"

"Vincent, for your sorry ass that paperwork is already on my desk fully filled out and just waiting on a signature."

Vincent laughs again and warmth settles in his stomach where the alcohol couldn't. His smile is genuine. "I suppose it's a hazard of the job. To answer your question, the war is just hitting a little too close to home right now."

Veld hums in understanding. He knows the circumstances of Vincent joining Shinra, understands his past and what drives him. It used to be revenge for his Mother. Shinra had given him the tools and training necessary to take lives that deserved it. Fugaku Haiten had deserved it tenfold, and to find that he still lived, that his revenge remains unfulfilled sticks painfully in his chest.

"Something happen in particular?"

_My mother's murderer is alive and I cannot leave immediately to go put a bullet between his eyes_

He murmurs a no, shifting to lay more comfortably in bed. On the other end of the phone, Veld rubs his eyes and sighs. "You can't let it get personal, while you're out there in the middle of things. It'll cloud your judgement, and you're already stupid enough to be reckless without prompting."

"I resent that."

"Gaia knows my gray hair is indicator enough of your idiotic stunts. 'Oh no Veld, let's not wait for backup against these 10 guys with semi-automatics, we have the advantage of _surprise_'. But if you're calling me instead of heading face first to your death then I guess you're either getting soft in your old age or someone has knocked some sense into you."

Vincent's eyes narrow. "I'm 26."

"My point exactly. What you need right now is a distraction."

He's so confused that his voice drops an octave into dangerous territory "What?"

Veld clicks his tongue. "A distraction. You're in Wutai in the middle of a war, yeah, but not on the frontlines. I'm sure that 'dark and mysterious' look still works well enough for you to find some company for the night. It'll help you to get your mind off whatever it's caught up on right now."

Vincent blinks, unsure what to say. He wasnt quite expecting Veld to turn the conversation that way. "I don't understand..."

He can hear Veld roll his eyes again. "Go get laid, Vincent. Should be easy for a handsome bastard like you."

Embarrassment flashes through him like lightning, "Isnt that counterproductive? I'm supposed to be focused at all times when on a mission."

"Doesn't stop your underlings from having a good time when they're not out digging for information or shooting kneecaps in for the President. It'll be good for you to loosen up a bit anyway, I read your report earlier and I'm pretty sure 'wutaian interference' while you were meeting with the General means you almost got killed recently. Wanna tell me what actually happened out there?"

He scowls, not expecting Veld to have read the report. "No."

"Fine, then go let off some steam with some pretty Wutaian girl. Or guy. I know you dont discrimi-."

"Veld, I cant." He cuts his long time friend off sharply, the frustration in his voice clear. Veld is silent for a few heartbeats before he speaks again, less demanding. "Ah, shit. It's that thing, isnt it? Couldn't happen if you tried, right?"

Vincent closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before breathing out. "Yes."

"Fuck Vin, I'm sorry. Its early, I didn't mean to be so insensitive. You got anyone you, ah, know out there who might work? Contacts, old friends?"

"I'm not interested in pursuing it at the moment, not in the middle of the war."

"Well, think about pursuing it in your downtime. A man can't think about death and strategy 24 hours a day. You need time to breathe and relax, just try not to form a gambling habit or a drug addiction, I can only save you from so much back at the office."

His lips twitch up in a small smile. "Duly noted. Thanks for the advice, old man."

Veld tsk's, "Say that to my face when you're back in Midgar, I'd love to knock you down a peg in front of the new recruits."

"Ah, but Veld, we dont get compensation for workplace injuries, remember? How will you ever afford to feed your cat when you're unable to walk?"

"Okay smartass, I'm going back to bed. You should too, before you do something stupid. Call me at a reasonable hour, next time." Veld hangs up without waiting for a goodbye and Vincent smiles at his phone, amused. Then his mind skips back over their conversation and he blinks up at the ceiling, lost.

Relationships in their line of work are very difficult to maintain. Their job relies on them to be available 24 hours a day and ready to mobilize on short notice, making downtime difficult to find. Turks are essentially married to their jobs, and it attracts the kinds of people who either have nothing left to lose or don't mind a solitary lifestyle. There are turks with families, with wives (or husbands) and children, but they are typically more office based than field agents. He knows quite a few of his subordinates choose to find temporary hookups or have a dedicated friends with benefits situation for when downtime presents itself, but he has never found those types of situations desirable. It is incredibly difficult for him to find other individuals attractive without knowing them on an emotional level first. Knife had talked to him about it at length once, after he had turned her down at a bar.

"Some people are wired differently, up here." She had motioned to her head, before taking a long sip of her drink. "There's nothing wrong with it. My brother was the opposite, couldn't form connections with people so he slept around a lot and never settled down. It just means you're gonna find someone and love the hell outta them when you do."

Vincent had shrugged the comment off. "I'm content without it. I've never felt that way about another before, and I'm not quite looking for it either."

Which had been true, at the time. Companionship wasnt something he thought of often, he wasnt lonely, he didnt have issues with his empty apartment or lack of sex life. There wasnt a pressing need to get laid, so he considered himself to be asexual and let it rest. Veld knew this, after a few offhanded comments on a mission once, and hadn't ever pressured him into looking for someone. Why he had now was a bit odd, but he would pass it off as sleep deprivation and never bring the subject up again.

Thinking about it, though, had helped to draw his mind away from the disaster that is Fugaku Haiten. What would he find attractive, if he were to go looking?

The image of Sephiroth, slouched in his chair over a glass of water comes to mind and he groans. He tries to think of someone else, anyone else, of Tseng (too young) or Veld (they'll never be more than friends) but the images don't stick. Vincent had stood there and listened to the man give his report but had been distracted the entire time by the blood splattered all over his chest, by the vivid green of his eyes and the slight snarl of his lips as he spoke. He was reminded in that moment of a young coeurl, sparking whiskers and hackles raised, always prepared for the next threat to come barreling through the trees. Sephiroth gave his report like a machine, but his body stayed tense and ready to attack at the drop of a pin, his eyes assessing, always roaming. He was pure predator, even at ease, and in that moment Vincent had been helplessly attracted.

They knew each other in passing, before the war. Intelligence meetings in Midgar often require both of their presence, especially when the subjects involve where to place SOLDIERS and the country's weakest points. Before Sephiroth deployed they both held several strategical meetings, some with the other FIRSTs but most were between the two of them alone. The silver-haired man had been professionally polite the whole time, focused on the task at hand. They weren't close enough to share personal feelings or stories, but there were several times where Vincent wanted to sit down with a drink between them and talk about other things instead. There was something interesting about the silver-haired man that Vincent couldn't let go. He wanted to talk to him more, wanted to get to know what made him smile, or laugh.

The Shinra rumor mill (unofficially headed by a group of secretaries from the accounting department) loves to speculate whether or not Sephiroth is in some clandestine relationship with a fellow SOLDIER. The younger Turks (who are a gossip factory all on their own) have it on good authority that he is not, despite his closeness with Rhapsodos, Hewley, and Fair. Of course, no evidence isnt an indicator that Sephiroth is single, but how would he even approach the subject with a man so private that his personal life is more secured than the President himself?

His PHS vibrates against the stand with a message. _'Go to bed' _from Veld. Vincent huffs and leans over to turn the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. It isnt worth thinking about until he is sober anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to get back into writing something again. Totally self-indulgent head cannons and all. This is what Finding Negativity could be without all the angst and bad history - General Sephiroth (no Jenova) and Head Turk Vincent Valentine (no experiments/demons) in some weird version of a workplace romance. 
> 
> Speaking of Finding Negativity, I have half the next chapter written. It's a bit of a struggle to write it currently but I am working towards an update. This will also be slow to update.


End file.
